


Turning Twins into Triplets

by Scree_Kat



Series: Ineffable Parenthood [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ALL OF IT, All the cuteness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24195028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scree_Kat/pseuds/Scree_Kat
Summary: The Ineffable Family gain a new, if honourary, member.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) & Harry Potter, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom & Minerva McGonagall
Series: Ineffable Parenthood [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429525
Comments: 52
Kudos: 422





	1. Chapter 1

‘I would like to ask you both a favour.’ Hermione and Harry looked at their Aunt Minerva curiously. She had been visiting regularly since she’d found them, getting on alarmingly well with their fathers. She’d even taken them all to Diagon Alley, helping Hermione pick a range of books to start building her knowledge of the world they’d be entering next year. Aunt Min, as Hermione had started calling her (mostly to irritate the woman, truth be told) wasn’t one to ask for favours. But judging by the slightly worried furrow to her brow, whatever it was, it was important to her.

‘What can we do?’ Harry, bless him, was the first to offer support. He’d always been the sort to say yes and then find out what he’d actually need to do. Hermione? Not so much. She’d lamented to Pepper often that boys took so much looking after, and Harry doubly so.

‘I told you about Neville, my boy. He’s a wonderful child, incredibly smart, and sweet, and a gifted horticulturalist, but incredibly shy. There aren’t a lot of children for him to interact with, on the whole, as there are no other parents teaching. And he’s rather intimidated by the older children when school is in session- he’s simply too shy to introduce himself, or ask to play. I was hoping you would consider meeting him, helping him get used to being around children his own age before he begins at Hogwarts?’ Minerva McGonagall was one of Hermione's favourite people, the sort of woman, as she'd heard her grandfather say before he died, whose feathers couldn't be ruffled even if you hit them with a brick. And yet, she was fidgeting. Only a little, something most people wouldn't even notice, but to Hermione and Harry, it stood out like a glaring neon sign complete with recorded shouted message of 'this is important'.

Truth be told, they'd been expecting the request, and were a little surprised it had taken so long. But then, adults had a habit of dragging things out far longer than necessary. She and Harry had snuck out to eavesdrop that first night, had heard Minerva explaining that Neville’s parents had been tortured into a vegetative state, quite probably in front of him. He’d been too young to tell anyone either way, but from that day forward, he’d not used his magic. His other relatives, fearing he’d be non-magical, began doing horrible things to try and force him to use his magic. He’d gotten incredibly hurt by their actions, and it was only with a lot of love and support from the Hogwarts staff that he’d begun to grow confident in using his gifts.

The twins had said nothing when that night, after Minerva left, Aziraphale and Crowley went ‘for a walk’, a rather incredibly un-Aziraphale and un-Crowley like action to take at close to midnight, especially as it meant leaving the twins home awake, angry, and entirely on their own. The twins never knew for certain what their fathers had done, or even how long it had taken them, as they’d given up and gone to bed around two, having ranted themselves into exhaustion. But the next morning, the demon and the angel wore rather smug, wicked smiles, the sort that looked entirely natural on Crowley, but rather odd upon Zira’s usually kind and compassionate face. Vengeance had been served, though if the twins ever found the Longbottoms, there'd be a second helping.

Hermione didn’t need to look to Harry for confirmation. They’d spent quite a lot of time trying to figure out the best ways to bring Neville into the Them. They’d talked to Adam and Pepper, of course, and they were fine with it, they even promised to go easy on him when he eventually arrived in their midst. But they’d have to start off slowly, getting Neville used to them before bringing the madness of the Them into the poor boy’s life. So instead of looking to Harry, Hermione nodded, beaming. ‘We’d love to! We’ve wanted to meet Neville since the day we met you!’ She paused a little, contemplating her words carefully. ‘He’s kind of like another brother, really? I mean, he’s like us, and I know our Dad’s would have taken him in, too, if they’d known.’

Beside her, Harry nodded. ‘We already think of him as our brother. We’d take good care of him if he came to visit, and our friends would like to meet him one day, too. Not at first, we know! He’ll need time to get used to us before we start introducing him around, but there’s people here who already care about him, and will look after him if he comes to visit, I promise!’

Aunt Min gave them both very tight hugs, and looked a little teary when she finally let them go. ‘You two are wonderful. Don’t you ever forget that.’ Sometimes, it was nice to hear, even if Hermione didn’t fully believe it.

*

Neville Longbottom-McGonagall (Longbottom kept not only to irritate his grandmother, which it did _immensely_ , but because, even away from his family, Neville was heir to the family estates and fortune) looked at his guardian nervously as she settled him into their reading chair far earlier than usual. It was his safe place, that chair. That and his bedroom, the two safest places in the world. His mothe-guardian (he _had_ a mother, she sacrificed herself to protect him, he couldn’t just act like she didn’t exist even if her existence caused his heart to clench and ache in a way his grandmother had never understood but took great delight in punishing him for) settled them into the extended chair every night before bed, she’d cuddle him close and read him stories about children like him, children who’d had to learn to care for themselves or who had horrid relatives, who went on to make the world an infinitely better place. She’d always finish by reminding him that he made her world infinitely better just by being in it, kissing his forehead and telling him he was loved.

This was also the chair in which they had their more awkward conversations, and he knew this was going to be something unusual. Minerva tended to be a creature of habit, and changes to their routine usually meant problems. ‘Neville, dear, I wanted to talk to you about something, if that’s alright?’ He loved that she asked him first, that she cared whether he was ready to talk about things, or if he needed time.

‘Of course. How can I help?’ She smiled at him, though it was more nervous than usual.

‘I found Harry and Hermione.’ He beamed. Like him, the two had been being raised by horrible people, but unlike Neville, both of them had vanished without a trace. ‘They’re fine. Like you, they’ve been adopted by people who love them dearly.’

‘Is that where you've been going lately?' She nodded, looking ever so slightly guilty for not telling him. It made him feel better, that and the realisation she obviously hadn't told the Headmaster. There'd have been enough gossip and chatter that even he'd have heard about it if anyone else knew. 'Is that why you haven’t told the Headmaster?’ Perhaps it was because the nice lady in the painting told him that Dumbledore was the reason he’d been stuck with the Longbottoms so long, but he didn’t like the old man. Well… in fairness, he hadn’t liked him well before she had mentioned Dumbledore's awareness of Neville’s abuse, and Harry and Hermione’s, for that matter. There was just something mean about the man: he acted the way his Uncle acted, all kind and sweet when people were paying attention, but horrible as soon as they looked away. ‘Because he’ll try and do something to get them taken from their families?’

‘You truly are a brilliantly perceptive boy, Neville.’ He blushed at the praise, feeling her wrap an arm around him and snuggling into her embrace. ‘That’s exactly why. They’re happy, and healthy, and safe, and though I doubt even Albus could stand against their new parents, I’d rather not have them spending their last months at home dealing with that. But I told them about you, and Harry and Hermione have asked to meet you. I think they’d love the chance to meet someone else like them, who has had a similar sort of a childhood. I told them I’d ask you, but that it’s your choice.’

Harry Potter, the boy who lived, wanted to meet him? Thought him interesting enough to want to spend time with? It seemed baffling to him that anyone would think he was interesting. He was still rather shocked that Minerva saw something worth saving.

‘They’re siblings now, but I think they’ve rather started thinking of you as another brother, once they knew how similar you all are. You’d be safe with them, they’re quite lovely, rather mischievous. Oh, they’ll bring trouble to Hogwarts, mark my words, but at the heart of them, they’re good, sweet children.’

Siblings? He could have siblings? The thought made all of his thoughts shiver and fall away. He’d always wanted a brother or sister, someone who he could go to when afraid, someone who’d stand up for him when the bullies made life difficult.

‘I… I’d like that. Can we meet them soon?’

‘How about tomorrow?’

He couldn’t wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Neville had woken earlier than usual, wanting to tend his garden before breakfast just in case he didn't have time later on. He wondered if Harry and Hermione liked plants, worried that they'd think it was incredibly silly of him to waste so much time digging about in the dirt.

What if they hated him?

What if they had this picture in their head about who he'd be that he'd never live up to, and they realised he wasn't worth their time? When he'd met Draco Malfoy, he'd lasted maybe three seconds before realising that Neville wasn't someone to befriend so much as avoid, and ocassionally try to make cry.

What if Harry and Hermione were like Draco? What if they were nothing like he'd imagined them? Of course, Minerva had said they were lovely, but adults didn't always see to the truth of things. For all he knew, she'd been taken in by the same tactics that keep everyone loving his Uncle. Or Draco.

He'd had a longer shower than normal, making sure there wasn't a trace of dirt beneath his nails or on his skin. He'd been excited last night, imagining making new friends, but in the cool morning gloom, excitement was quickly becoming fear. He didn't know what to expect, or what to do, whether he should dress in his good clothes or wear one of the outfits he usually wore. Throwing on the first clean clothes he saw, he gave up and went to ask for help. His mothe-Minerva gave him a warm smile and a hug, telling him to just wear jeans and a shirt, that they’d be in the muggle world for most of the day, so he could leave his robes at home. He’d never been to the muggle world before. His grandmother had said it was terrifying, full of monsters and murderers and horrors beyond comprehension, but Minerva shook her head and cursed the old bat for a fool, explaining the little town the family lived in, and that they would be perfectly safe. As though aware of his growing nervousness, she'd reminded him that Harry and Hermione were looking forward to meeting him, but if they turned out to be mean, she'd put the fear of McGonagall into them immediately. He’d rushed through breakfast, too exited to try and pretend otherwise, and Minerva had simply smiled indulgently, told the rest of his family that they were going out for the day, and began eating a little more quickly so as not to keep him waiting. Not fast enough to be rude, or to make herself sick. Just fast enough.

He’d never get used to apparition, to the feeling of being forced through a space far smaller than he was and left hurtling through that squashed-ness to wherever they were going. The light was bright, the sunshine warm, and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the change. They were in a garden, a rather beautiful one, too. The sort that looked well cared for and loved. ‘Oh, Mum, look at the roses!’ He’d bounded off immediately to take in the sight of them, so red and vibrant, each petal perfect. The scent was intoxicating, even from a distance.

‘I see you have good taste in flowers, I’ll show you the greenhouse later, if you’d like?’ The man who spoke was friendly sounding, with the hint of mischief in his tone that made Neville think of the fun kinds of pranks and laughter. ‘I’m Crowley, and it’s wonderful to finally meet you, Neville.’ He didn’t offer to shake Neville’s hand, which the boy appreciated. It always felt odd to shake hands.

‘Did you grow this?’

‘I did. I tend to enjoy gardening, so I’ve spent a lot of time out here. I can send you home with some cuttings if you’d like?’

‘Really? That’d be awesome! Will you show me how to care for them?’

‘Of course.’ The man, Crowley, gave him another warm smile. ‘Would you like to come inside? I’m sure there’s two little hellions very excited to meet you.’

‘Oh, sorry!’

‘No need to be. Honestly, the kids love the garden, too. We all spend a lot of time here, and it’s easy to get distracted by things that take your interest. I can’t even keep count of the times Hermione’s brought home stray animals to look after! They don’t mind, I can promise you that, because they’re both easily waylaid by their own interests.’ He nodded, relieved. He’d hate to have made a bad impression already. Minerva was smiling at him, the sort of blindingly vibrant smile that made him wonder why she was so happy.

‘Let’s go, darling.’ He nodded, taking her hand and letting Crowley lead them into the cottage.

He hadn’t expected twin impacts almost immediately upon entering, and for a moment he’d started expecting to feel hits raining down until his brain realised that there were two pairs of arms wrapped tightly around him, and two heads pressed into his neck as though they’d spent a lifetime hugging him. He didn’t know when he’d dropped Minerva’s hand, but soon he was hugging back just as tightly, trying not to choke on the riotous head of hair Hermione had.

‘Welcome to the madhouse, Neville.’ Crowley smiled, but it was a softer, kinder smile than the ones he’d used before. Another man, shorter, rounder, and more formally dressed, was handing Minerva a handkerchief with a smile.

Finally, the trio untangled themselves, and then Harry and Hermione were talking a mile a minute, finishing each other’s sentences and weaving their words together effortlessly. He found himself wondering if he’d ever speak that way with them, and rather hoped he would.

‘Come on!’ He hadn’t even heard what they’d been saying, so startled by the instant camaraderie he’d felt with the pair that he could do nothing but let himself be dragged towards the other end of the house, and more than likely, someone’s bedroom.

The last thing he heard before the door closed was a new voice saying, ‘Well, I think that went well.’


	3. Chapter 3

The cottage, from the outside, hadn't looked big. In fact, it would be the smallest home Neville had ever been inside of (the largest, of course, being Hogwarts). And yet, the room Harry and Hermione dragged him into seemed far too big to fit inside so small a cottage. He looked around warily, taking in the large, comfortable looking bed (easily big enough for two to sleep in), the cluttered desk and the frankly concerning number of very full bookshelves. Minerva hadn't said anything about them living with a magical family, in fact, she'd been quite clear that they lived in the muggle world. So how was this house even possible?

'Are your fathers wizards?' He hadn't meant to ask the question out loud, clapped his hand over his mouth and waited for the shouting to start. It didn't.

Harry shook his head, though he didn't look insulted at the question (Neville couldn't help but think most of the other children he'd met would be furious). 'No, but they're magical. It's cool, right? We saw our rooms before they enlarged them, they were so tiny! But we have to keep our doors locked when non-magicals are around so we don't freak them out.'

Hermione's laugh broke through Neville's staring. 'Dad says we freak 'em out enough already, which is true, but only when they have it coming. So we've got to be good, unless it's the Them. They already know, so we're allowed to do whatever we want when they're around.'

'The Them?' 

'Oh, our friends. There's Adam- he's magical, but not a wizard, Pepper, who's basically the angriest girl in the whole wide world and totally awesome (Harry seemed to add the bit about Pepper being awesome rather quickly at the sight of Hermione's unimpressed expression), and Brian and Wensleydale who are...' Hermione shrugged as Harry trailed off, seemingly at a loss of how to describe his two friends.

'They're nice, but to be honest I'm pretty sure they still think we're aliens planning to take over the earth. We don't always like the same things as them, so we tend to spend more time with Pepper and Adam. They're looking forward to meeting you, you know. Adam's been working on a ceremony to welcoming you into the Them and everything!'

'Me? Why would they want to meet me? I'm nobody.' Hermione's posture stiffened, the way Minerva's did whenever a student said something foolish at meal time. He fought the urge to step back at the sight of her unimpressed expression suddenly focused on him (and immediately understood exactly why Harry had worked so hard to make it stop. Hermione could be scary when she wanted to be).

'You're not nobody, you're our brother! Of course they want to meet you! And if they didn't, we wouldn't want to be their friends.' It was odd, having known Hermione for less than five minutes, to realise that she was entirely serious. Neville had been adopted before they'd ever met him, and his new sister seemed rather overprotective. The idea that she'd so easily throw away her friends for someone she'd never even met was baffling.

'But they're your friends. You don't even know me...' he looked down, his voice dropping to a whisper. It was sweet, what she was saying, but it wouldn't last. He could at least be honest about that much. 'You're going to realise I'm not worth it, you know. Everyone does.'

He was being hugged again before he'd even finished speaking, two pairs of arms wrapping tightly around him. 'If everyone thinks that, you've clearly just met idiots.' Hermione's tone was as stern as Minerva at her most severe, but Neville found himself grinning regardless. 'You're worth it.'

'I thought I wasn't worth it too, at first.' Harry's voice was soft, kind, and Neville pulled away from the twins to look towards his new brother curiously. 

'But... you're the Boy Who Lived!' Harry shrugged like it was nothing. Perhaps to him, it was. 

'I didn't know about any of that until your Mum found us. The Dursleys- they were the ones raising me- were horrible (Hermione hissed, snake like, at the mention of them, and Neville had the sudden chilling thought that the Dursleys were in for a world of hurt when Hermione eventually found them). They made me think no one would ever care about me- why should they? To them, I was nothing. But then Dad- Aziraphale, he's the blonde one- found us. The Dursleys were mad at me, and he stopped them, gave me the choice to stay or go with him. I was so sure he'd realise he'd made a mistake. I mean, who'd want me?' Neville's brain screeched to a halt at the idea that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the most famous name in their entire generation, had thought himself so unworthy. 'And then we met up with Crowley, only Crowley had found Hermione, and suddenly there were three people who'd figure out I'm worthless. But they didn't. And it took a while, but eventually I realised that the Dursleys were wrong. I wasn't unworthy, _they_ were.'

Hermione was smiling, the sort of proud grin Aunt Pomona gave him when he'd wrangled a particularly grumpy plant into submission, though her expression faltered as she began to speak. 'I was in the same kind of situation. My Dad was horrible, my mum figured it was better me than her, so really, she was pretty horrible, too, even if some days I felt sorry for her. They thought my intelligence made me unlovable, when the truth was that I was stuck with horrible people who didn't know what love actually was, let alone knew what it was like to be loved. We were at the park, and one of the neighbourhood boys hit me, right in front of my mother. She just ignored me sprawled on the ground in front of her. But Dad-Crowley- saw, and he protected me, and gave me a choice. Sometimes I still think they'll figure out I'm not worth the trouble, but it's easier not to worry about it now.' And oh, there was a story there, Neville just knew it. It was there in the way she seemed to be speaking from experience, the way she looked towards the door like she was checking that she could still hear the three adults talking outside, and the way Harry seemed to lean into her as though offering comfort without being too obvious about it. And sure, he may not know the story (yet... he didn't doubt that soon there would be no secrets between them at all), but he knew enough to lean in to hug Hermione tightly, too. 

'I'm glad you have each other.'

'And you. We have you, and you have us.' There were precious few times Neville had felt truth down into his bones. The day his uncle swore they'd prove he had magic if they had to kill him to make it happen was the first time, certainly, that his bones had positively ached with the knowledge, even if it wasn't the first time he'd felt the slither of fear curling around a truth. The day Minerva confiscated him from the Longbottoms, when she'd settled him into their chair and promised him she would never send him back to those horrible people, he'd felt the truth of it rumbling through his blood and bones like thunder. When Aunt Pomona told him that he was gifted- actually talented- with magic, that he wasn't behind and didn't need to be ashamed because it was possible he'd be ahead of many of the other students- he'd felt the rumble of truth, too, though it was also a startled and fluttering sort of pride. In this moment, though, he knew down deep, to his bones and somehow, inexplicably, beyond them, that no matter what happened, he had a brother and a sister who would stand beside him. 

They had shared their truths, offered their most vulnerable selves to make him feel better. He had never really talked about his parents- oh, of course, Minerva had told him he could speak to her whenever he wanted, and would tell him stories of them if he'd asked (the happy ones, not the ones about their _noble sacrifice_ that his grandmother always preferred)- but he'd never dared give voice to his thoughts, sure his grandmother would swoop in and punish him for even thinking them too loudly. He doubted she'd stand a chance against Hermione's scowl, anyway. Rather than running away (he could almost hear Draco's nasal drawl of 'run along, Longbottom, nobody wants to hear what a squib has to say'), he hugged his new siblings a little tighter, closed his eyes, and let the words free for the first time. 

'After the Dark Lord vanished, his followers attacked my family. It was just my parents and I. My Mum knew they were surrounded, knew she couldn't get me out, so she hid me in a cupboard and cast all the spells she could think of to hide me and make sure they couldn't hear me if I cried. I could hear them, though. All of it. My Mum and Dad, they fought against him in the war, but not like your parents did. They were more behind the scenes- research and making potions- though they fought, they weren't exactly leading the battle. Nobody knows why they'd even bother attacking us when there were other homes far more meaningful. I mean, why target the nobodies when there are actual threats to your cause? It made no sense! They didn't kill my mum and dad. They tortured them, over and over and over, until sometimes I think dying would have been the kindest thing for them.' He ducked his head, blushed as though the thought deserved shouting and hatred, not more hugging. 'They don't know me- they don't know anyone, really, not anymore. My Gran goes to see them every Sunday and they have no idea who she is. She'd always make me go, too, and I hated it. They're my parents, they're meant to know me, and they don't. It's like looking at two people who are wearing my parents faces but have no idea how to actually be my parents.' He shrugged, barely able to move around the arms wrapped like devil's snare around him. 'Magic scared me. I could see the flashes of light, I could hear the screaming, and I remember being found, eventually, and brought out. I could see everything- all the blood, and the looks on my parent's faces. My grandmother swore I didn't remember, but I do. I'd have nightmares about it, and she'd tell me I was being dramatic.' Hermione let loose another hiss, and he knew that sooner or later his grandmother would find herself on the wrong side of his sister. 

The small, angry part of himself that remembered the feel of limbs being mended, and the crack of ugly old walking sticks against his face hoped he was there to see Hermione tear his grandmother apart.

'I couldn't do magic, not really. Aunt Pomona says it's nothing to be ashamed of- that I was really young and that night made me associate magic with people getting hurt. No one ever showed me it was safe, that I wasn't going to hurt anybody. My family just thought I was a squib. So they'd use their magic to try and... force me to use my own. I'd end up at St Mungo's- that's the wizarding hospital- all the time until Minerva found out. When I got to go live at Hogwarts, I was scared everyone would realise I couldn't do anything with magic, but Aunt Pomona- she's really cool, she teaches herbology, and she decorated my room so that there's a garden for me to take care of and everything- she helped me to see that it wasn't that I couldn't do magic, it was that no one had let me see it was safe for me to do magic.'

'I think I'm going to like Aunt Pomona.' Hermione smiled. Her smile turned serious far too quickly, though. 'You know, hiding your magic the way you did was really brave. You were trying to protect people, and that makes you a hero. But also? Your Mum brought me some books, and they all seem to agree that most people can't withhold their magical energy like that, and those who can require years of learning how to. That makes you incredibly special, Neville. I'd bet that you're going to be one of the most talented people in our year!'

'Ha. Maybe Draco'll finally shut up and leave me alone.' He knew it was a mistake the moment he saw Hermione and Harry stiffen the way his uncle's hunting dogs would, like they'd just found their quarry and were already planning how to rip it into pieces. He fumbled for a new topic, pushed the conversation towards safer waters, and pointedly ignored the way it looked like Hermione was fighting the urge to ask questions. Just because he, personally, didn't like Draco didn't mean he wanted to turn Harry and Hermione against the boy before they could make their own opinions. Besides, they'd see exactly what he was like, soon enough. 

The afternoon passed in a blur of stories, hugs, and, because Minerva knew her kittens well, the gifting of a pair of enchanted mirrors to allow the triplets to see each other more often. 

He had expected farewell hugs from Harry and Hermione, of course. But Crowley wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he presented him with a bag filled with cuttings and detailed explanations of how to tend to them was a surprise. 'You're welcome here anytime, Neville. Our home is yours, too. We'll even add another bedroom in case you want to come stay over the holidays.' He had his own room at Hogwarts, of course, but the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale expanding their house just to make room for him was enough to leave him hugging both men, his head pressed into Crowley's chest. Dropping a kiss to Neville's hair, Aziraphale moved away just far enough to grab a journal and hand it to him. The book itself was beautiful, gilded and old, it's cover leather with plants carved into it so detailed it was like looking at a painting. 'I found this journal in a little store in Italy not too long ago, and when I saw it, I knew it was going to go to someone extraordinary. I can see it will be in wonderful hands with you. Your life is set to be a grand adventure, Neville, and you should always take note of the important and interesting bits.'

He had the sneaking suspicion that his new family would be responsible for a good many of the more interesting bits of his future.

He couldn't wait to find out. 


End file.
